Enslaved - Tom Hiddleston as William Shakespeare's Coriolanus
by sherekahnsgirl
Summary: Tom Hiddleston's version of Coriolanus returns to his tent after winning a victory in battle - he's in need of a female companion. What he ends up with is a surprising jewel among swine. PLEASE READ NOTES! VERY MATURE! NSFW! NSFW Erotica Slavery Whipping Rape Non-ConsensualSex Forced Orgasm Talk of Forced Pregnancy Kink Dominant Tom
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

 **VERY NSFW!**

Mature Audiences **ONLY!**

The first chapter is mild by comparison, but the next ones **ARE DEFINITELY NOT!**

There is **RAPE** in this story, which is inherently **NON CONSENSUAL**.

There is talk of **FORCED PREGNANCY** in this story.

There is a **WHIPPING** in this story.

If you find any of the above elements to be disturbing, please go find something else to read.

He entered his tent - the biggest in the encampment of course - he was, after all, their general. But he wasn't like any general they'd ever fought for because he insisted on fighting _with_ them. Unlike the other commanders of his rank, he was right there with his men, in the thick of things. He didn't stick to the relative safety of his horse, either - he swung down almost immediately into the very heart of the din, right in the midst of the clang and clash of sword hitting sword. The screams and cries of those who were losing their fights truly deafening as he stepped agilely over the bodies of those who had already fallen - from both sides. Wielding that heavy weapon with breathtakingly lethal skill and carving his way through their lines like the embodiment of Death himself, he quickly became covered in the blood of his enemies from head to toe, to such an extent that their opponents began to simply part in front of him as the Red Sea for Moses, dropping to their knees before him, abandoning their weapons and begging to be spared.

Of course, no one was, including their King.

Death had no concept of mercy for those who had taken up arms against Rome.

As the echoes of his soldiers' cries - hailing him and his magnificent victory - which he didn't much count as one, considering the cowardice of those who refused to fight against him but instead preferred to simply be cut down like sheep - rang in his ears, Caius Martius entered his tent, not acknowledging the two guards who sprang to attention outside the tent flap as he did so, and having no care for the fact that he was still wearing the blood of his enemies as it oozed with every step from his boots where it had pooled, leaving crimson footprints all over the exquisite rugs that decorated the inside of his quarters as he moved about.

He did not follow the usual tendency of his fellow officers, much to their chagrin. The higher he rose in rank, the further away they try to put him from his soldiers whenever they made camp. But that was what he _was_ , to the bone - a Roman soldier, and damned proud to be one. He hoped he never ended up trying to be anything else. And as such, he annoyed all of his underlings, who saw their distance from the common soldier as a perk of their rank, that _his_ tent - the largest but carefully not ostentatiously decorated - be in the _middle_ of the rest of his men - the ones that actually _fought_ the battles _with_ him, risked their _lives_ for and with him on the front lines, not from the relative safety of horseback and definitely not from a ridge far from actual combat.

Once inside, he began to pace furiously, his mind racing, body still at attention - in more ways than one - from the heat of battle, every part of him hard and ready and humming with energy, every sense painfully heightened, blood coursing through him so furiously that he would have sworn he could feel every drop of it flowing through him.

Especially in one particular part of himself.

He opened his mouth to yell for his servant, but before he could get the wretch's name out, he appeared before him.

"Master." The older man bowed low to him, but Caius ignored the courtesy, as usual.

"A woman. I want a woman," the general growled. "In fact, bring me at least three. I have needs that want slaking."

The man remained where he was for a long moment, not moving a muscle, which enraged Caius, who rounded on the poor man and got directly into his face, easily bearing down on and towering threateningly over the much shorter, smaller man.

"Why do you hesitate?" He drew the sword that was always at his side. "Would you prefer that I find another slave who _will_ obey me -"

With the relative security of long acquaintance, if not affection, between them, the man bravely dared to interrupt his master, saying calmly, "There are already five women awaiting your . . . attention . . . just outside the tent, Dominus."

With a frustrated growl, Caius sheathed his sword. "You know me too well, Petrus." It sounded much more like a complaint than a compliment, but then that was what the servant was used to.

"Fetch them to me."

The slave ducked outside for a short moment, then, when he came back in, he was leading a rope to which five women were attached by corresponding collars around their necks, arms bound behind them. Each of them was more filthy, scrawny and odiferous than the last, it seemed, such that even Caius wrinkled his nose at them.

He stood before the first one, whose hair was a rat's nest upon her head, face caked with dirt and muck, the skins she wore hanging off her in tatters, and wreaking of foul odors he did not want to consider the origins of. She cowered and cringed away from him, avoiding his eyes like a whipped dog, even though he had made no move to touch her.

And the next three were no better. He didn't even bother to remove any of their garments; he found them so grossly distasteful.

The last one, though, was different from the rest; he knew it immediately.

She stood straight and tall - well, as tall as she could. She was easily a foot shorter than he was, but she seemed better fed than the rest of the lot, her cheeks fuller, face almost decorated with dirt rather than showing signs that that she had spent her life dwelling amidst it.

And she was not looking at the ground, as the others had been, but rather straight ahead of her, seeming almost unafraid, or at least attempting to, anyway. She wasn't quite bold enough to look straight at him, but he had seen her watching him as he inspected the others, out of the corner of her eye.

And she hadn't looked away from anything her eyes had encountered, either, he'd noted with more than casual interest.

He put his finger beneath her chin to lift her face and examine her more carefully, coming to stand very close to her - his legs spread wide as if to surround her with himself - as he exerted more than enough pressure to force her head up so that their eyes met.

That was when she spit on him, a considerable mouthful of the effluvia landing on his left cheek.

The other women immediately shrieked and tried to cower on the ground, away from his certain ire, and even Petrus had uttered a short, sharp yelp at her action, which brought his guards bursting in.

The other women she was roped to were dragging her down, but she refused to yield and remained standing proudly, her eyes still clapped to his, even when one of the guards quickly assessed the situation and grabbed her by the collar around her neck, choking her as he placed his sword at her throat, seconds from letting her life's blood flow onto the ground beneath their feet.

The others held their collective breath at the tableau that was unfolding before them, certain the girl was going to be dead by someone's hand in a matter of seconds.

"Halt!" His loud order rent the air, staying the surprised guard's hand. "Release her and step back."

"But Sir -"

Caius drew himself to his full height, his hand on his weapon. "If you do not follow my order, soldier, then it will be _my_ blade at _your_ neck."

She was freed abruptly and stumbled, but righted herself almost immediately, coming again to stand proudly before him, daring to put herself in the same exact position as she had been when she'd spit on him, inches away from him, staring up into his eyes of her _own_ accord, this time, as if daring him to do something about it.

Caius was no fool. He reached down and cut a segment of the ropes that bound the women together before anyone realized what he was doing, and as she had her mouth open to spit on him an incomprehensible second time, he shoved the dense rope into her mouth to gag her, tying it tightly at the back of her head as she shrieked futilely in rage, but then quickly calmed herself, not descending into the hysteria the other women had so easily fallen into.

As she stood there, seconds away from forfeiting her own life just to spit on him again, a flash of admiration for her spirit coursed through him, and the erection that had been killed off by her companions in a manner he had been concerned was permanent was already straining towards her feminine warmth.

With an evil smile, he reached up and grabbed the collar of her flimsy shift in both large fists, and with one slight pull, he split it down the middle and ripped it the rest of the way off her, leaving her naked before the other women, his guards, Petrus . . . and himself.

The soft hearted Petrus looked away, but he would not allow it.

"Everyone look at her. Do not move your eyes from her or I will have them _plucked out_." He took another step closer to the impudent little bitch, warning her, in her own language, "And you keep your eyes on me or my face will be the last thing you ever see."

With that, Caius used the rags that had been her covering, that were still in his hand, to wipe his face, surprised at the blood that also came away on it - having forgotten that he was bathed in it - moistened by her little gift to him. Then he took a step back from her and gave her a thorough - and thoroughly insulting - once over.

Her hair was streaked with dirt but not matted or snarled, like the others, he noted with interest, and the golden blond color - as well as the curls and waves - shone through regardless of its currently unkempt state. His eyes wandered lower, recognizing immediately that, although she was definitely dirty, it was almost calculatedly so - as if the dirt had been applied hastily and only to those places that where she was exposed.

Caius squatted before her and examined her feet. Not only was she wearing sandals - unlike her compatriots who he would have bet had never owned a pair - but her feet were too damned close to immaculate for her to truly be of equal - low - rank to the women to whom she was bound.

"Cut her bonds, take her shoes, and the rest of them, but leave her here."

The soldier who had nearly killed her hesitated, and his commander, of course, noticed.

"Belay that order." He raised his voice just a bit, but he had an impressive amount of volume at his command "Guards!"

The troop of six men that surrounded his tent at all times poured into the room. "Seize this man." He pointed to the guard. "He has disobeyed me twice - once by action and the second time in his heart. A hundred lashes ought to help him learn to obey." Although it would be doubtful he'd live to apply the lesson, he knew he didn't need to say that. He turned to the other original soldier and said, "Cut her bonds and take the others to the slave enclosure."

In seconds, his will was done and they were alone; the Roman commander and the woman whose small body would sate his lust, willingly or no.

And he much preferred it be the latter, he thought, as he dragged her by the rough rope collar over to the nearest support beam of the tent, which happened to be in the middle of it. He then reached up and looped her already bound wrists over one of the hooks he'd deliberately had driven into them for his own convenience, this one so high that she was forced to remain on her tiptoes as a lot of her weight hung from her hands, stretching out her naked body lewdly before him.

She was surprised when he removed her gag, but then he whispered, his face entirely too close to hers, lips pressed against the side of her cheek, "I don't want anything to interfere with your screams. I want the whole camp to hear them."

Then she saw him reach for the thin leather whip, that was only about twenty inches long total, that hung right next to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Honoria had never been so scared in all of her life, and yet she was doing her best not to show it. Given a choice, she would much rather have died in battle, as her brave brothers all seemed to have - and she knew her father - the man who had kept her safe from unseen monsters at night, who had held her within his strong, safe arms any time she was sick or scared, who had taught her how to hunt and fish and fight right along with his sons, who had kissed her goodbye this morning, hugging her tight to him as if he'd known what awaited him on the battlefield - was gone, having seen the very man who was standing behind her cut him down without a second's hesitation, as she had no doubt he would to her when he was done with her.

But she vowed to herself and to the spirit of her dead family that, if she found the chance to exact vengeance she would take it without hesitation, dying in the attempt and thus joining them in the glorious afterlife. She had to keep her eyes and her ears open, never knowing when the opportunity might present itself.

It was her mouth that was open just now, though, as that horrible, thin, whippy leather implement sang through the air to crack loudly across the flesh of her bottom that was only too prominently presented by the way her body was arched as she danced to its terrible tune - or rather tried to.

She had been ashamed that the first stripe had caused her to scream out loud, so she endeavored to keep her mouth shut against humiliating herself like that again, although she lost that battle more often than not, especially as livid red welt crossed over earlier ones, compounding the atrocious sting a thousand fold every time he laid a fresh track across her taut, soft skin.

There was a short - very short - moment of triumph, however, when she managed to marshal her defenses - weak though they were - and kick her leg out towards where she knew he was standing, landing what must've seemed an inconsequential blow to him on his shin - although she was quite satisfied with the surprised grunt her efforts bore.

But he didn't so much as pause, unfortunately, although she did hear him chuckle a bit in what sounded like admiration, although she knew it couldn't possibly be.

By the time he replaced the whip on the hook near her head, she could barely lift it. Her world had been reduced to that relatively small area of her backside - her buttocks and the backs of her thighs - which were on fire, cruelly seared over and over again with vicious, angry red lines left behind that pulsated and stung wickedly. She wanted nothing more than to be able to reach back and try to somehow soothe away the atrocious ache, but she couldn't imagine him allowing that, even if she did somehow manage to free her hands.

He paused to admire his handiwork, his hand almost floating over her skin. except when it stopped to painfully fondle a ridge here, a welt there. He could have used a harsher whip - he certainly owned enough of them - but one of the things that had struck him about her - besides her passion - was her beautiful, blemish free skin. Caius had rarely owned anything so perfect in all his life - even his wife bore the marks of the small pox she had lived through early in her life.

But not this woman. She was exquisite, her skin creamy everywhere it wasn't dusky rose from embarrassment at her predicament or bore the evidence of her recent punishment. If he could avoid doing so and still bring her to heel, he wouldn't use anything that would mark her permanently - unless he decided to brand or tattoo her, but that would be very different from the ugly mess a heavy whip would make of that gorgeous hide of hers.

He released her from the hook and hauled her back against him, forcing her to conform to the length of him as he towered over her, his hands roaming boldly over her, brutally squeezing the base of one breast in his fist while the other hand shoved itself between her legs.

Despite how much she hurt, she knew she could not tolerate what he was doing to her, so she forced herself not to wallow in her own misery and began to fight back as best she could, trying to remember everything her father had taught her about hand to hand combat, but she was fighting not only the man who was groping her, but her own paralyzing fear, too, which she knew had her losing the fight even before it had begun.

And yet she refused to stop trying.

There was that deep, almost indulgent chuckle again as he began to move towards the magnificent - and enormous - bed that was - surprisingly - more of a focus in the room than anything else. It was elaborately decorated and carved, sporting a breathtakingly beautiful spread that showed his crest in vivid colors she'd never seen before, its pattern elaborate and painstakingly created to best highlight it.

Honoria was suspicious that he wasn't doing more to subdue her - he kept a tight hold on her and let none of her attempts disrupt the way he was molesting or moving her, but he let her flail her arms and legs frantically, as she tried to heave herself away from him.

Before he brought them to the side of the bed, she recognized his tactic for what it was - he was letting her exhaust herself in a completely useless pursuit. She stopped what had been her increasingly violent attempts at breaking free and instead held herself board stiff within his hold, kicking herself internally for having wasted all that energy when she should have been alert and thinking and plotting and planning, observing everything she could about him and his environment for possible use later.

Cunning was the only way she was ever going to be able to best him. He was certainly much too big for her to physically overpower. But if she could, somehow, find a way to obtain a knife or a sword or literally _anything_ sharp, she vowed that she would be the witness to his very last breath, even though she knew that, if she succeeded, it would very likely be her own, also.

It would be the least she could do in the memory of her fallen family and their warriors.

This woman was smart, Caius was forced to admit as he could practically see and feel the wheels turning in her head as she worked out that fact that he was just letting her tire herself out before the main event. But he hoped that wasn't all the fight she had left in her. He figured he could be pretty sure that she would feel compelled to try to avoid what he was going to do to her within the next few minutes.

Unless he missed his guess, he had the regionally famous Princess Honoria in his hands. She was well known about these parts for having been brought up by her father in much the same manner as her brothers. Her mother had died while she was still an infant, and the old King had doted on his only daughter, letting her learn skills that, as far as Caius was concerned, were ridiculous to teach to a woman - hand to hand combat, sword fighting, horse riding and such.

And where had all of that gotten her? For all her fancy skills, she had still been reduced to nothing more than what she was - the spoils of war. She was still going to be used in the manner women had been for millennia before now and probably after.

He threw her down onto the bed on her back and, as an agonized groan escaped her that she failed to stifle, she nonetheless immediately tried to scramble away, and he let her. It wasn't as if she was going to get far, and he enjoyed the hunt, the chase, enormously.

Almost a much as what followed.

Honoria, who was desperately trying to keep her head in all of this, thought of something suddenly that her father had mentioned to her, kind of in passing this morning, and she hadn't really understood its import because he seemed so discomfited in even mentioning it to her.

She lunged suddenly - not away from her tormenter, but closer to him - diving under the pillows at the head of the bed, desperately seeking, reaching with those largely incapacitated hands, hoping that what she wanted to find would be there.

And it was.

When she rose up, it was with a long, wicked looking dagger in her bound hands, holding it like a man would, and with an amazing amount of confidence, considering where she found herself. She rose with exquisite balance, towering over him menacingly, although he didn't look in the least concerned, his gaze flickering to her then away dismissively, as if he couldn't be bothered to worry about such a small threat.

She was aware that he was just baiting her, wanting her to feel insulted by his lack of concern, and she wanted to attack him badly, but she didn't. Instead she began to back away from him, reaching the opposite edge of the bed and not looking, just jumping down then rounding the end of the bed, edging towards him - now that she was on better footing - not trying to escape as most women in that position would have, but instead almost obsessively intent on doing him bodily harm.

He busied himself removing the accoutrement of battle - hanging his sword near the bed by its surprisingly plain leather belt and removing several knives he had secreted about his person to lay them on the table next to the bed - not even bothering to hide them from her or keep them out of her reach.

This was another set of less than subtle insults. He was quietly saying that he had no doubt that he could always get to the five or so knives he'd laid out very carefully before she could, that he didn't feel he needed to be armed around her, and that she wasn't the caliber of threat that warranted him remaining armed.

That he was supremely confident that he could take her bare handed, and that was exactly what he did.

Honoria drew closer to him still, her heart banging within her chest fit to split it open, body tense, ready for anything.

She thought.

But she hadn't counted on how quick he was, nor had she calculated his reach correctly - which many of his opponents didn't - and in the blink of an eye she found her hands grabbed at the wrist as he carefully avoided the wicked blade, twisting her around so that her back was to him and expertly exerting pressure on a particular point near her spine that produced agonizing pain and some sort of strange numbing feeling at the same time until she could no longer hold onto the weapon. The knife clattered to the floor and he kicked it well away from her.

She saw her last hope disappear under the bed and howled in rage. She knew she'd be consigning herself to death by doing so, but she wanted nothing more than to sink that dagger into his black heart and watch the light fade from his eyes. She wanted it so badly that she could _taste_ it.

But what she got was shoved back down onto the bed, and this time he followed her there, laying himself atop her, still fully clothed, still a horrific sight - bathed in blood as he was while he bore down on her.

This time she fought him, not out of a sense of revenge, but out of nothing more than pure, primitive terror, and, as those feelings of helplessness and the inevitability of what she had only the barest inkling was going to happen to her, all of her training of mind and body fled and her puny, futile efforts began to more closely resemble those of all women who were put upon like this by men.

A malicious smile showed a starling slash of the white of his teeth against his red face. "That's it - fight me. I like a woman who tries to delay the inevitable. Makes the victory all the sweeter for me."

"And what a proud warrior you must be - crowing triumphantly over a helpless woman," she spat back at him, finding some of her bravado returning - unfortunately not nearly enough to do her any good. Although perhaps she could goad him into killing her before he dishonored her . . .

His smile remained frighteningly bright as his arm came up to pin her hands above her head. "Rest assured you will be punished for your attempt on my life. But before I get to that, I find myself in need of a woman, and you - pitiful as you are proving to be - are the only one here."

His open, wet mouth settling on her nipple made her try to jerk and buck in her attempts to rescue that delicate bit from him, but - to her absolute mortification - _not_ because of the expected pain or revulsion at him doing so. No, it felt unbelievably - _unacceptably_ \- good, and that was exponentially worse, as far as Honoria was concerned, so much so that she was prompted to sneer, "Oh, it's a woman you want? I had heard that Roman soldiers preferred other Roman soldiers' - or better yet, young boys' - arses to women."

That seemed to get his attention, although not in the manner she intended at all.

He stretched out his full length over her, those thick thighs that were roped with muscle ruthlessly forcing themselves between hers until they were almost painfully spread beneath him, dragging his still clothed self up and over her, deliberately letting her feel that part of him that was most male as it prodded into her tummy.

Refusing to rise to her bait, he answered slowly, deliberately and in a harsh, threatening tone, "Oh, _yes_ , make no mistake, it's _female_ flesh that I crave, Princess Honoria." He grinned at her surprise as he said her name. "Because not only have I defeated every last one of your _brave_ -" he enunciated the word out in a manner that let her know that he thought they were anything but " - soldiers, but I'm going to take it a step further - through you, as well as how my soldiers are going to avail themselves of the _comfort_ every surviving female of your tribe offers. You'll spend your life from this moment either being bred to me until you're pregnant - and I'll make absolutely sure you enjoy every moment of my efforts in that area - or carrying my bastard. And once you've given birth, I'll get another on you and another and another. They'll all be at least half good Roman stock, and I'll see to it myself that they're raised to die in service of Rome."

She had screamed and cried and wept as this man had scourged her body. She had feared for her life as a knife was held to her throat earlier. She had watched her family fall around her on the field of battle and barely escaped with her own life.

But this - this was truly a fate worse than death.

And yet there was nothing she could do to stop him.

The tears, when they came, were silent and unstoppable. She could close her eyes and clench her teeth against them, but they seeped out anyway.

And it only got worse as he began to touch her.

Caius could see the emotions playing across her face - anger, fear, horror . . .

But he knew that the best - and the worst for her - was yet to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Because he wanted his hands free, he jumped agilely off her and secured her hands to one of the legs of the bed before she could even begin to react, she had descended so deeply into her own misery. She was lying crosswise on it, which was fine with him. He wasn't of a mood to offer her any more comfort than he had to - at least not in that manner.

He would bet his life that she was a virgin, despite her unusual upbringing. He had made a study of her people - as was his habit before he left Rome on any campaign, immersing himself in whatever was known of their culture, learning their language and garnering every bit of pertinent information - the most recent intelligence he could gather - about them, so as to be forewarned and forearmed, and he continued to do so as he and his troops drew closer and closer to her father's lands.

Virginity was very highly prized by her people, which was why it was so unusual for the King to have raised her in the way that he had. It was said that she was excellent with a bow, that she rode like a Valkyrie, and that she was as beautiful as Troy's Helen.

Caius didn't know about the other things, but they certainly had gotten the last bit right. She was truly breathtaking. More so than he usually preferred. Oh, his wife was very beautiful, but beauty was so rarely encountered out here in the Hinterlands that he'd grown used to not finding it. When he needed release, he usually just hoped that she didn't smell too horribly bad because sometimes that was off putting enough that, even after the heat of battle, during which he usually had a raging hard on, his desire would wilt immediately.

She was a jewel among swine, and he couldn't wait to have her.

Still, he enjoyed challenging himself enormously any way he could, and sometimes, if he thought it might be any sort of a contest, he set himself the seemingly impossible task of bringing the woman beneath him to her own glory before allowing himself his own.

The majority of them - once they realized that he wasn't hurting them - at least at first - relaxed and enjoyed - and occasionally even began to reciprocate and participate.

He had no such illusions about the Princess, however. He could well imagine just how horrified she was going to be as he roused her pleasures - and he would. He prided himself on his ability to do so with any woman he cared to and he was determined that she would be no different. When he wanted to be, Caius could be infinitely patient, and this opportunity more than warranted it. He allowed himself a small smile that, when Honoria saw it she grew even more wary and tense beneath him - with good cause. It was not a pretty smile. It was one that promised a defeat that was at least as ignominious - if not more so - than the one her men had suffered at his hands and the hands of his soldiers - no matter that she was going to suffer it in a beautiful tent on a gorgeous bed.

In his expression - in his eyes - she could see the sure knowledge that she was going to be defeated, and in the most disgraceful, shameful, and dishonorable manner possible for a woman, even if she wasn't quite sure exactly what that entailed.

Caius was still imagining how she was going to fight him _every inch_ of the way, and everything male in him strained at the chance to take her down a peg or two in a manner he knew she'd hate even more than if - _when_ , he corrected, because he still owed her for the impertinence of brandishing a knife at him with the obvious - if unlikely - intent to do him bodily harm - he lashed her behind again.

He stilled her abortive movements - which were becoming weaker with exhaustion although she seemed in no mood to stop - with mind numbing ease by simple use of the strength and presence of his imposing body on hers. He avoided her mouth - at least until he had her better trained, and instead concentrated on what he knew were her most sensitive spots, tugging each nipple into his mouth and razing it with the edges of his teeth, soothing that tiny assault by lapping his tongue over the very tip, all while she did her best to try to dislodge herself, to hold herself away from what he was doing to her - but to no avail.

But she couldn't so much as budge an inch unless he allowed it.

Caius attended to both tender tips the same way, treating them to surprisingly delicate - and some a bit harder - bites, suckling avidly, infinitely satisfied when he let go and those rosy peaks had at least doubled in size, standing proud and hard, swollen from his efforts. As his mouth began to journey down the center line of her flat stomach, his greedy - and much less careful hands - took over where his lips had left off, gripping each breast at the base fit to make her arch beneath him and open her mouth, although she refused to allow herself to cry out - even when those hands proceeded to slap her breasts - hard - so that the heavily callused tips of his fingers landed directly on top of buds that had been thoroughly tenderized and left ultra sensitive by his mouth.

She drew an agonized breath with each application of his hands to breasts that she was unsuccessfully trying to cringe away from him, but that was as far as she'd go.

At that point, anyway.

Until he applied his forearms to the middle of her thighs, butterflying them acutely, his body weight keeping them spread obscenely, and she knew that he was looking down at the parts of her that were reserved for the man she was to eventually marry. She might have fought and learned with her brothers, but they were all just as protective of her as her father, and she was kept woefully innocent of anything except for the fact that she was never, ever to voluntarily yield herself to any man except the one her father selected for her to marry.

And yet here she found herself splayed shamefully beneath the enemy, and Honoria would have sworn that she could _feel_ him looking at her, and there was no way she could repress either the blush she felt sweeping violently through her body or the low, mournful wail of despair that rose in her throat and made its way out her mouth before she could swallow it back.

Closing her legs was an impossibility, as was moving out from under him or reaching down to shield her most private self from him with her hands. There was nothing she could do to prevent him from looking at her - and, she was horrified at the thought, much, much more, if that was his bent, and she had a terrible feeling that it was.

She was also thoroughly ashamed to realize that both the way he was looking at her - as if she was an oasis and he was dying of thirst - and how he was molesting her breasts were making her feel something she'd never experienced before - and she didn't like it.

She didn't like it _at all_.

He was her sworn enemy. He had killed her family, brutally whipped her and now he was determined to dishonor her - she hated him more than she'd ever hated anyone in her life. Given half a chance, she would kill him where he lay.

And yet.

What he was doing to her was making her feel funny - making her breasts swell and rise almost as if they missed the way he had been mistreating them, her nipples so sensitive it seemed as if the very air around them irritated them terribly, making her want to entice him to touch them again, if a bit gentler, as he had with his mouth.

And the longer he stared at a place on her person that no man had ever seen, and she could feel her face and her body flush an almost painful red, that part of her body seemed to divorced itself from her mind's control entirely and was acting entirely on its own - the same things happening to it as had happened to her breasts and nipples - swelling, increased warmth in the area, and what was worst was that she could feel something seeping slowly out of her.

It was not her time and she couldn't imagine what it was - except that she could intuit that it was probably _not_ something she wanted to do in front of this man.

Of course, he noticed it, too. "Ah, this is better than I could ever have hoped. My little virgin is positively gushing her tribute to me - to the way I am handling her." Caius' eyes darted to hers, noting how totally embarrassed she looked, but confused at the same time.

"You do not know of what I speak, do you, my slave?" he asked in a tone that was almost but not quite gentle. He dipped the barest tip of his finger into the flow of her juices that ran down her cleft, then brought it to a clit that he could see was already greedily anticipating his touch, laying it atop that fleshy button and slowly dragging it around in circles.

For a long moment, she simply lay there, as if she was struck dumb by what he dared to do to her - and then it erupted from her like lava from Vesuvius - a toe-deep moan that would have put any of the very skilled whores in any of the very expensive bordellos he'd been to in Rome to shame.

Only those women were pretending - in almost every case - and hers was a very real, very honest, extremely reluctant admission of a pleasure she had not sought, that instead was being forced upon her.

He stopped after one, slow, thorough tour of that little nub, but it left her panting and almost yelping as she tried desperately to stifle the mortifying sounds her body was sending out of her, with only a modicum of success.

Caius simply lay there, enjoying every single second of her obvious discomfort.

When her panting had receded a bit, she spoke, and he could well imagine what it had cost her to even think of saying what she did to him.

"Please, no. D- don't do that to me again, please. I'll - I'll stay with you. I'll - do w-whatever you want me to. Just - p-please, not that. Not that . . ."

Her words trailed off and he could hear that they were being choked off by tears.

"Ah, but you have nothing to offer me _but_ this, Princess." The way he said her title made it a vulgarity. "And of course you _will_ stay with me. And you are offering to do things for me that I'm going to make you do anyway. Including this . . . "

When his finger found her this time, the yowl of rebellion - or was that bliss? - that rose up from her began immediately and only grew louder the longer he caressed her. And he did take his time, even more so this go around, trying out various pressures and movements, even adding a second finger to cover more of her and was heartily rewarded by the hiss of her indrawn breath as his index and middle fingers rubbed and flicked and swirled themselves over her.

But then he withdrew that stimulation and his cock nearly burst at her long, low moan of protest that ended on a an enraged wail.

If he didn't move forward with this quickly, his seed was going to be entirely wasted, splattered uncontrollably against the crotch of his breeches. And she seemed more than ready - not that he was particularly concerned about that but if he was going to bring her to the heights of passion against her will, it certainly helped that she hadn't been able to remain unaffected by his tender ministrations.

Preferring to remain as fully clothed as possible - for practicality's sake if there was any sort of alarm raised - as well as to reinforce to her just who it was that was in control of this situation, he reached down and made only the necessary adjustments to his clothing, exposing a cock that had been at full staff since he'd first seen her, and was now likely to burst forth at any moment, were it not for his iron control.

Caius sat up and she immediately tried to roll away, although she didn't get very far. He brought her back to the same position she'd been in, then made it a thousand times worse by leaning forward to catch her knees at his elbows while planting his palms near her sides, which forced her lower body up so that it was, essentially hanging from those heavy, masculine arms.

Something velvety soft but hard and unyielding as marble at the same time found its way to the exact part of her that was the source of her monthly flow, but was now the author of whatever it was that was positively leaking out of her at an alarming rate.

If it was, indeed, blood, then she was not long for this world, and perhaps she _would_ get her wish to die before he dishonored her further.

His fearsome, still blood covered countenance hovered above hers, but the way she was bound prevented her from leaning up to bite him, and she knew that if she tried to spit on him again she'd only end up wearing it herself. He flexed his hips and she felt something trying to gain access to her body, and all of a sudden she knew exactly what he was trying to do - his comments about making her bear his bastards gelling in her mind.

She had been raised in a small keep, and had been taught alongside the boys, but she knew what male animals did to females to get babies.

And he was trying to do just that to her, only not back to front as most animals mated, which is why it hadn't really clicked with her until just now She wasn't even going to be afforded _that_ tiny courtesy, but instead was going to be forced to _look at him_ as he took from her the last thing she still retained of any value. When he was through, no man would ever look at her the same way again. She would be sullied, soiled - useless to any good man, especially if he succeeded in getting her with child, which he seemed determined to do.

Caius had never wanted to snap his hips forward all at once so much since he was fifteen and dallying for the first time with a crofter's girl that lived up the hill from him.

But he had learned that doing that would, in all probability, make him lose the contest he had going with himself to bring her her woman's pleasure.

In his experience, many women - even untried virgins - found enjoyment in being stretched open. He had been more blessed by the Gods than other men in many ways, and this was one of them. He was no small man by any measure and taking him would not be easy on her.

Another challenge he was more than up to.

He entered her surprisingly slowly, leaning down to capture a neglected nipple as he did so to help distract from any discomfort she might encounter, suckling firmly but gently, tugging rhythmically while flicking the very tip of that turgid bit of flesh, then switching to her other breast.

He had to say she had magnificent endowments of her own - her breasts, her bottom, her amazingly tight quim - and he had visions of that hair - once washed like the rest of her and finely brushed - reaching down to at least the small of her back. He intended to use it as reins when he took her from behind, the very idea sending him surging a bit more quickly than he should have into her. She whimpered and bit her lip, her head rolling back and forth between the arms that framed it, eyes tightly closed as if she could blot out what was happening to her.

"Open your eyes," he barked.

"P-please s-stop," she begged, eyes still closed, but the pride her father had fostered in her had already become a thing of the past at his hands, a luxury she could no longer afford to cling to. He was making her feel so full, that part of him that was imposing itself on her, into her, and the pressure was unbearable.

Unbearably _arousing_ , and she couldn't seem to fight it back or down or rid herself of it in anyway - and what he was doing to her breasts only added to her misery. It was insidious - even the butt he'd ravaged was tingling more now rather than throbbing. How could being whipped help make her body feel like this? At least that should have been something she could hold on to, a shield of sorts to ward off the sensual fever he was creating within her, against which she had no defenses.

Caius reached under her hip to ruthlessly pinched a buttock that he was quite sure was still quite painful.

Her wail confirmed it.

There went the tingling back to throbbing again, only it didn't seem to help anywhere near as much as she'd wanted it to.

"You would rather I turn you over and flail the flesh from your behind before I fuck you, then take my belt to you afterwards for trying to kill me?"

Her eyes snapped open and he could see tears dribbling out of the corners of them, but he ignored them completely.

Eventually, as she wept and occasionally gave in to a pitiful keening, but almost constantly panted and groaned passionately with his every move such that he was in grave danger of losing control again, he seated himself within her to the hilt, surging gently a bit further into her to make sure she had taken every bit of him, causing her yelp and renew her rebellious attempts to escape him which he didn't even bother to suppress any longer.

She wasn't going anywhere.

While she tugged at the ropes that held her hands fast and tried to squirm out from under him, he blithely sat up and leaned back, still in full possession of her, dipped his fingers into that stream of her own lubricant and brought them back to that eager little nub of hers.

"Now your audience is going to hear you scream for an entirely _different_ reason than before, I promise you that," he whispered huskily as he began to roll his hips, pumping himself firmly in and out of her while his fingers explored her expertly, never letting up on either effort, his strokes becoming very hard quite quickly as his eyes locked onto her face.

Honoria didn't know what was happening to her, but she knew she didn't like it.

But then, to her interminable shame, she knew that that was a lie, that she really _did_.

Her body did, anyway. It had sided with her enemy with no fight at all, it seemed, almost as soon as he had touched her intimately - perhaps before.

Perhaps it had started when he had punished her. Oh, it had been horrific, but she recalled that the seeping of fluid from between her bare thighs had begun then - even in the midst of the worst of it.

And now, with his male member holding her body wide open by virtue of its enormous presence within her, each time he pounded into that delicate passage, those fingers that played with a part of her she hadn't even realized she'd had until he'd begun to strum it knowingly, and then she was truly undone when his lips found her nipples again, suckling hard as he hammered himself relentlessly home within her as she lay, helpless, beneath him.

Something began to build inside her, where his fingers and his cock were, but also where his mouth was, somehow, and it all married and mixed and multiplied, blotting out her thoughts completely, even her humiliation that he was able to do this to her so easily, to turn her against herself, making her submit to him, capturing her traitorous body and turning it against her to use it as the definitive instrument of her ultimate disgrace.

Looking down at her, Caius could tell that she was close - and so soon! She was more responsive to him than he could have dreamt she'd be - although he could see that she was still struggling - as best she could - against it, and probably would be to the end.

And, if he was lucky, beyond. He hoped she was still grappling with how he could make her feel years from now. He couldn't imagine that he'd ever tire of doing this to her - especially if she was still trying to prevent it.

What sweet victory this was going to be, with him dragging her to the edge of Paradise and throwing her off as she tried to grab and claw at the ground beneath her even as she fell inexorably into the vortex.

He couldn't resist crowing a bit, knowing it might be just the push she needed. "That's it. Surrender to your fate, little Princess. _I_ control your body - I can do this to you any time I desire - I can bring you to the heights of ecstasy or the depths of agony, and I alone will decide which it is that you shall experience."

Caius moved up, abandoning her nipple so that he could press his lips to her ear instead, letting his words fill her brain the way his cock filled her cunt. "I shall sow my seed within you every chance I can until it takes root in your belly, until you grow ripe with my child. Because you seem so bloodthirsty and bent on harming me - or more likely yourself - I shall keep you bound to my bed as long as it takes until I have evidence that you are with child. You will bear children for me that will become royal warriors for the glorious Roman cause."

The instrument of her complete submission, of her certain mortification, was seconds away, he could tell, and as she lost her battle loudly and began to scream and contract around him, sending him into his own mindless orbit, he growled into her ear, "You're going to make a very pretty little brood mare."

And she did - to her intense mortification - exactly what he had predicted she would - she'd arched her neck and issued a full-bodied scream of unbearable, uncontainable ecstasy, knowing as she did so that all of his men would now know that he had brought her from abject agony to the heights of Heaven in a matter of moments.

Honoria was at once flooded with the kind of euphoria that she'd never experienced before and, at the same time, she was terrified by the experience, and the combination of the two only heightened the sensations rolled violently through her, making her shake and shudder and shiver as his fingers continued to molest her, forcing her to several more peaks, each one more raw than the previous. She was completely mindless at the pleasure he had wrought within her - it was one of the few times in her life that she could remember that her body was entirely out of her control. That control now rested quite firmly with Caius Martius, and she knew that her life would never be the same - that it would consist of him doing to her exactly as he'd said he would - taken, whenever and however the mood suited him - and it would always be against her will despite the fact that he could make her enjoy it - and she would inevitably feel her body grow and change with the child he planted there, forced to live as his punished, captive, pregnant slave.


End file.
